


Fortunate Sons

by htebazytook



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Car Sex, Catholic School, Class Issues, Derogatory Language, First Time, Humor, M/M, Non-Angel Castiel, Non-Hunter Dean, Politics, Porn, School Uniforms, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas gets stuck tutoring the new kid in school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortunate Sons

**Title:** Fortunate Sons  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** pejorative slang  
 **Disclaimer:** *disclaims*  
 **Pairing:** Dean/Castiel  
 **Time Frame:** Catholic High School AU, human!Cas and non!hunter!Dean  
 **Summary:** Cas gets stuck tutoring the new kid in school. 

 

Cas laughs along with everyone else at the lunch table. They always sit on the upper level of the tiered cafeteria, closest to the salad bars and the doors so that everyone walking in had to walk by and see them on their way down to the more awkward bench tables. And although Cas's chair at the upper level may not be particularly comfortable, it at least has a back and arm rests.

"Yeah," Zach is laughing. His blue, school regulated tie loosened a bit beyond what was technically allowed, but lunch was always a grace period. "Yeah, so he just bitched to his parents until they let him transfer, I guess."

"I believe it," Naomi snorts. "Gabe bitching is a force to be reckoned with. Whatever, he wasn't right for St Eric's."

Raphael's calmer, more measured voice comes from the head of the table. "I have to disagree," he says. Any residual snickering subsides. "Gabe had potential and a bright future ahead of him, but he didn't want to focus on that. Always dismissing the opportunities his parents gave to him, goofing off in class and pulling pranks instead of applying himself."

"It's sad," Mike agrees from behind the case-less new 5S he was constantly scrutinizing. He sits up straight with his tie on straight, his white dress shirt impeccably ironed and face impossibly close-shaven - all things that Cas had never quite mastered and constantly worried might be noticed by Mike in particular and earn him some well deserved disdain, because how on earth hadn't Cas gotten the hang of making himself presentable by senior year of high school? "Don't you think, Cas?"

"Yes," Cas says, voice coming out funny because he hadn't spoken up all lunch period.

*

When Cas was younger, he used to protest the strict agenda his father's work kept them to – he'd ask to go to amusement parks to ride the rides rather than for photo ops, he'd ask _why_ too often. 'Because I'm your father' was tacked onto every answer he received as though that made it make sense. 

Cas hasn't seen him in months, but at least he always sends a car to pick Cas up from school. There it is now, pulling onto the looping road that leads up around the church to the school parking lot. Rustling trees add to the murmur of after school noises, still lingeringly green but the weather gets cooler by the day. Cas pulls his overcoat tighter around himself.

A door slam catches his attention. A car he doesn't recognize. It would've stood out anyway despite not being familiar – the kind of old fashioned one you might find at a car show, not that Cas's family spent much time at car shows unless they doubled as fundraisers. 

The car's occupant is a kid ripping his tie off like it's attacked him and shrugging into an oversized leather jacket. Cas hears rock music blasting from the windows as he roars illegally out the entrance to the parking lot.

*

He's in Cas's English class, Cas discovers the next day. Cas had been too focused on listening to rules and syllabi on the first few days of school to have noticed a new face among the flock of identically clad teenagers.

" 'Paradise Lost'," the priest says, fidgeting at the front of the classroom in a way unbefitting of someone who talked in front of people for a living. He and Sisters Hudson and Hooper were the only clerical teachers in St. Eric IX Catholic High School, and while Cas's classmates may have made fun of them behind their backs to Cas their very presence was reassuring. "We'll start getting into the poem itself on Monday, but until then we'll be learning about blank verse, its author John Milton, and the socio-economic landscape of the world in which it was written. The work was first published in 1667, just one year after the Great Fire of London, a time when Milton's country was still recovering from a civil war, divided over the divine right of the monarchy and a democratic society."

A giggle from behind him ruins Cas's concentration. When he turns to look he sees Anna grinning at the new kid, strange in and of itself coming from someone as perpetually solemn as Anna. Cas can't see his face, has never really got a good look at him but Anna seems fixated, okay with him leaning halfway across the aisle with his legs on the wrong side of his chair and murmuring in a low voice.

"Mr Winchester?"

He turns around with an easy smile to face the priest. "Please, Padre, Mr Winchester is my father – you can call me Dean." He has huge green eyes, a pretty mouth, and a strong jaw. Muscled arms which hint at impending adulthood but the freckles dusted across his cheekbones keep him boyish.

Half the class raises eyebrows while the other half snickers. Anna smothers another giggle with a hand to her mouth. Cas just stares.

The priest stands a little taller, not quite so jittery now. "Why don't you stay after school, Dean? We'll have a chat."

"Nah, I'll have to take rain check, man," Dean says. "I got a thing." He's still simpering.

Cas can feel his eyes bugging out in disbelief. Dean . . . _truly_ doesn't care what the consequences of insubordination might be. Or a clearly untucked shirt or a tie that's not even the right shade of blue being draped across his neck like a towel after practice.

*

"First church day tomorrow, Cas," Zach is whispering to him during last period. Zach talks to Cas a lot, sometimes – usually when they're the only two members of the lacrosse team in the same class, like right now. "God, I love church days."

"Me too," Cas agrees. He does. It's more relaxing than church on Sundays with his mother whenever she's in town. Sitting next to his friends while the priest reassures the student body that they are loved by God and already on a righteous path simply by attending felt more meaningful than sitting next to his mother in tailored Dior. She made sure to always take the front pew as though her faith wasn't made real until others saw it was so.

"My dad," Zach continues confidingly, "well you know he's a big donator like yours, so I'm getting out of mass to go see the Kansas State opener. And I mean he's golf buddies with your dad so if you want I can try to get you an extra tick - " The obnoxiously loud revving of a car interrupts him. "What the hell?" 

Cas looks out the window with him in time to see Dean Winchester in his inexplicable car zooming out of the parking lot using the wrong road, again.

"Dude," Zach says. "Who drives a run down piece of trash like that? What is that thing, like 50 years old?"

It does look old, though Cas wouldn't necessarily call it run down. "What the hell?" Cas says.

*

Cas is early to first period English class, skimming over the last couple pages of 'Paradise Lost' he's read to make sure he's ready for the quiz. It's quiet in the classroom, an uproar of clanging lockers and laughing and talking in the hallway beyond. 

"Mr Novak." The priest is standing before him, all smiles but griping his coffee mug tightly. "Can I have a word? Don't worry, you're not in trouble. I need to ask you for a favor."

"Of course, Father Shurley."

The priest's smile softens a little. He sits in the empty seat across the aisle from Cas and Cas inhales the rich smell of coffee that wafts his way. "One of the students is struggling with this material. Now, I know that someone in AP classes like you, not to mention the lacrosse team, doesn't have a lot of extra time, but - "

"I'm happy to help, Father."

The priest laughs. "Good! Well, Dean Winchester is desperately in need of some tutoring, and I think with your help we might just manage to drag him out of his rut."

"Of course." Cas's heart sinks, then beats very quickly when he catches sight of Dean sauntering into the classroom talking blatantly on an old flip phone. Phones are definitely not allowed in class. How can somebody just . . . just _be_ like that? 

Dean's still on his phone as he plops into his seat. "I _know_ , that. Yeah. Yeah. He's fine, he's always fine. I _am_. That's _why_ he's fine. Yeah. Yes, sir. Okay." Flips his phone shut and broods all period long, not even returning Anna's glances or resorting to smartass answers when he's called on.

*

"You are new in town," Cas says after several minutes of silence in the empty English classroom during study period. 

"Uh, yeah, no shit." Dean rests his head on folded arms in the desk beside Cas. There's this worryingly pagan looking necklace stuffed under his button down shirt that pops out and clatters against the wood. "I transferred up here from Hunter Township High – well I mean you probably don't know it, it's like an hour away, outside of Lawrence . . . "

"I know Lawrence." It felt like Cas had every inch of Kansas seared into his brain whether he wanted it there or not.

"I actually went to Crossroads for awhile, but I got kicked out. Whatever, being there was torture, anyway."

Cas avoids his eyes, unsure what the most diplomatic response would be.

"So, tutor me up, Scotty. Let's get this over with."

Cas frowns. "My name is Cas."

Dean sighs. "Yeah, I know. God you're a drag, you know that?"

Cas doesn't know what to say to that either. He pulls out the agenda he'd written up during lunch highlighting what he wanted to cover with Dean. "At the end of Book I, we see Satan having gathered his followers to him - "

"Satan, man. What's up with him in this story?"

"The . . . corruption of man."

"No no no, I mean why is he, like, the good guy? Isn't this supposed to be a Catholic school?"

"Satan is certainly not the protagonist."

"I dunno, man, he got kicked out of heaven for questioning some pretty shady stuff that was going down, and now he's the biggest bad there is forever and ever? I don't buy it. Sounds like a load of bureaucratic bullshit to me."

"I believe you are missing the point, Dean."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"To _learn_ the material."

Dean snorts. "And what, not actually think about it? A computer can memorize crap and spit it back out on a test – if that's what they wanted then maybe they should just kick us all out of school to do something actually meaningful. They can put a bunch of computer labs in here instead."

Cas is getting frustrated. Why won't Dean just stay on topic? "You _need_ to do this, Dean. It's just the way things are."

"What are you, the musical mice from 'Babe'?"

"I don't understand that reference."

"Jeez, and here I thought I didn't have a childhood," Dean says. "Listen, Cas, this country's educational system is fucked up. Everybody knows it. It's all just ticking the right boxes on some automated test or whatever, and you get judged on how well you do it for the rest of your life."

Cas can't believe what he's hearing. He is trying to _help_ him. "You should show me some respect. I don't _have_ to help you with this material."

" 'Course you do – you wanna stay in the teacher's good graces, right? Raising your hand for every question, showing up early and shit. It's embarrassing, man, and I don't even know you."

Cas stands, gathering his things up with shaky hands. He can't remember ever having been this irritated with somebody. "I'm leaving. We'll pick this up tomorrow."

"Um okay, so you're just gonna tell me off and then disappear? Is this how all our little tutoring sessions are gonna go?"

Cas is already out the door.

*

"Masters got herself a good team, this year," Naomi keeps muttering. She downs a precisely arranged forkful of vegetables, already machinating to herself.

Zach laughs. "Yeah Crossroads is stepping it up. Crowley's captain on the boys' team now and those faggots almost beat us Tuesday."

"Well," Mike says. "We'll just have to fit in some extra practices, won't we? We _will_ get ahead of them, just like we always do."

Raphael shakes his head. "I don't know how a charter school even got a lacrosse team in the first place. You'd think they'd just be grateful to have any sports at all, considering."

"I dunno, Raphael, I think Candy Crush is a little more their speed," Zach says. "You know, if they had phones made in this century." 

It gets a smirk out of Naomi and Raphael. Mike just slumps uncharacteristically in his seat and texts with unseeing eyes.

Cas is watching the monotonous line of students who are shuffling through the lunch line when he notices Dean Winchester is among them, his face in profile looking very intently at the desserts a bit ahead of him in line. 

Zach elbows him. "Look at this one, man," he says, pointing Dean out as he grabs an extra pie and makes his way across the lunch room. "This is what happens when the school board starts approving scholarships."

Zach is sneering openly at Dean with his untucked and unbuttoned shirt as he saunters past, taking a good bite out of the first slice of pie as he walks and chewing with his mouth open. He winks at Zach exaggeratedly, catches sight of Cas and raises an eyebrow.

"I just hope they're doing background checks," Naomi says. "Who even knows how he got the money?"

"Well I dunno," Cas says, startled when all eyes focus on him but he can't exactly turn back now. "It's nice to give people a chance who might not have had one otherwise, you know?"

Mike's looks up from his phone. "Are you serious, Cas?" he laughs.

Raphael makes a face. "People like that are _always_ a bad influence."

Cas shrugs, having trouble meeting anyone's eyes. "Well yeah, I know, but I just mean that they can probably benefit from a better environment, too."

The others grumble their agreement reluctantly, and Cas doesn't say anything else for the remainder of the lunch period.

*

Cas goes to Dean's locker. He's seen Dean there, but he'd know it anyway from the rock band bumper stickers whose emblems he recognizes but doesn't quite know. Dean's there now, with the door open and his upper body crammed inside to dig something out from the locker's bowels, giving off muffled metallic curses. 

"Hello, Dean."

 _Clang._ "Shit!" Dean emerges around the locker door with wide, startlingly green eyes which sweep up Cas's body. "Personal space, dude."

Cas frowns, takes a careful step backward. "We have work to do."

Dean laughs. "Uh, can it wait? Bell's gonna ring any minute, it's _last period_."

Cas sighs, getting annoyed with his cavalier attitude. He regrets having given him the benefit of the doubt and gotten disapproving looks from the other senior members of the lacrosse team for his trouble. "Your future is at stake, Dean," he says sternly, feeling satisfied because he was saying it to somebody else for a change.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "My future huh? Where's it going if I don't skip out on reading old books with you just this once?"

Cas can't believe him. "Good grades are what get you into good schools," Cas says, exasperated and beginning to see what his friends were talking about. "Good schools are what get you good jobs and good incomes. You should be grateful to even be here and be given these opportunities, and you shouldn't just dismiss them. You have potential."

"Wow. You are really, _seriously_ ignorant about what's important, man. And I gotta go, so . . . I'll catch up with you tomorrow." He pats Cas on the back as he strolls on by.

Cas just stands there opening and closing his mouth in the hallway.

*

The next day Dean does make good on his promise, leaning back in a heavy chair in the library with his shoes on the table.

"Oh come _on_ , Cas," Dean groans, throwing a book in his direction. Cas rescues it before it slides to the floor. "Can't you just let me cheat off of you and we'll call it a day? Everybody wins."

" _No_ ," Cas says, horrified. "You can't do that."

"Oh yeah? Why not? What's gonna happen? Nothing. The world will keep on spinning. You telling me you've never cheated at anything, ever?"

"Of course not. My father – I mean, I can't just go around cheating. It's just not appropriate." Cas has been struggling to conform to his parents' unreliable definitions of 'appropriate' for so long he's forgotten what it really means to other people.

"No offense, but I ain't afraid of your old-ass dad, Cas. What's he even do?"

Cas sputters. "You don't know?" That’s never happened before.

Dean looks at him sidelong, then he sits up properly in his chair and reaches for Cas's old MacBook Air. After a minute of Googling Dean glances over at Cas, then back at the computer to read, then starts laughing. "Oh jeez, this – " and he gestures vaguely at Cas " – makes a lot more sense now."

"What does?"

"Your general Hermione Granger aura."

Cas does his best to defend the family honor: "My father is a powerful man."

"Uh huh. What's he gonna do, gridlock Congress at me?"

Cas bites his tongue. He can't really argue with that. Things had been different when he'd been younger, he feels so certain of it. 

"Wait – does he live in DC? Pretty sure there's a surplus of snobby prep schools there you could be at instead of one in the middle of fucking Kansas." 

"It's important for him to maintain roots in his constituency."

"So he comes back during recesses?"

"Yes," Cas says. "Well, sometimes. Sometimes we go to the house in Aspen. I mean, he can't always make it, but it's nice to get away from the daily grind."

"Dude, you sound like a tax accountant." Dean isn't as mocking now, though. He leans forward on the glossy library table and watches him, wrinkled white button down taut over his shoulders. Absently twisting the cord of that weird necklace. "I get it. My dad's in Afghanistan. He volunteered to go this time. Which, you know, someone's gotta do it, but it's like . . . my brother's still a kid and it'd be nice for him if he was around more since . . . I mean it'd just be nice."

"Oh," Cas says, feeling uncomfortable the way he always did when confronted with somebody who was genuinely heroic beyond their talking points.

Dean reads from his school issued copy of 'Paradise Lost' without protest for the next ten minutes. Cas tries to revise his own notes on the next Book but keeps getting distracted by the people walking by in the hallway, the intermittent beep of books getting checked out, Dean's unconscious habit of licking his thumb to turn a page and the way he'd sprawled out in the chair with one leg bent to lean the book against. Ezra Fell stops by on his way to drop off a teetering stack of books and chats with Cas about AP World History before leaving. Cas stares unseeing at a page for five full minutes.

"Okay, I can't take it anymore," Dean announces, rubbing at his face and stretching luxuriously. Cas reminds himself to breathe. "I'm done with all this holy crap for today, Cas, whaddya say we skip the rest of school and do something fun?"

"We can't, Dean."

"Why? You gotta sit there quietly or else?"

Cas wonders if Dean even listens to the announcements in the morning. "There's a seminary visiting in the gym this afternoon."

"Okay. And that is . . . ?"

"Career day for those who don't wish to marry and would rather - "

"Get themselves to a nunnery?"

" _Dean_ , that's not – oh." Cas blinks. "Shakespeare." 

Dean shrugs. "There was a Hamlet on PBS with Captain Picard and we don't have cable," he says, resituating himself in his chair for the hundredth time. "So those are the options for you guys? Holy life or married life?"

Cas doesn't understand the question. "I . . . what else is there? And it's not as though people just graduate and get married immediately, by the way."

"Yeah I know, I'm just wondering like, what about if you're gay and _not_ into swearing off sex?" 

Cas can't control his train of thought – could _Dean_ be gay? Cas can just imagine replacing the pencil he'd been gnawing at for the last hour with something else. Okay, bad train of thought, and Dean is probably straight anyway, and he'd probably gotten girls to give him blowjobs, right? Cas can see that even better, Dean biting his lip and thrusting into a pretty lip-glossed mouth. He can picture Dean fucking a clichéd cheerleader under the bleachers with her skirt hitched up and Dean's hands gripping her thighs hard. 

"Earth to Cas," Dean is saying, waving a hand in front of him. Grinning, still biting on that pencil. "You ready to move on to the next part?"

Cas fumbles for his books.

*

"Having fun yet, Cas?"

"I don't consider sitting in a piece of trash car 'fun'," Cas says. He doesn't meant it, really, but he's frustrated by Dean's obvious glee in Cas's discomfort. They've been sitting here for what feels like hours, already, and Dean has expertly deflected Cas's every attempt to do some actual studying.

"Trash?" 

"Sorry?"

"Baby ain't _trash_."

Oh – Dean's actually pissed about this. "No, I . . . I didn't mean . . . hold on, 'baby'?"

Dean's frown evaporates. " 'Course!" he says, stroking the steering wheel fondly. "She's my baby, been with me through thick and thin."

"So . . . " Cas casts his gaze around the spacious leathery interior of the car searching for topics of conversation. He wonders where his sense of superiority over Dean had gone, and why he was fighting the urge to fidget now. "How was school today?

"Oh you know, the usual," Dean drawls. "Big square building filled with boredom and despair."

Cas shuffles through his notes on 'Paradise Lost' for something to do. Dean is very relaxed to his left, elbow out the window and legs spread and a lazy half smile on his face as he bobs subtly to the music.

"What is this?" Cas asks, indicating the radio when Dean sweeps heavy-lidded eyes over to him questioningly.

"You kidding me, man?" Dean says, cranking the dial up. "AC/DC. What the hell kind of rock are you living under?"

_The way she move, I must confess_   
_I like to run my hands up and down her legs_   
_The way she dress, she look so fine_   
_I'll make her wet, I'll make her mine_

Cas doesn't listen to this kind of music. He tries not to think about the song. Or Dean. Or Dean and the song.

When Dean had suggested studying after school Cas had envisioned sitting safely across from him in the library again. Instead Dean had slung an insistent arm around Cas's shoulders and led him out the side door to the parking lot, ushered him into his shiny black car that was unlike the shiny black cars Cas was used to and assured Cas they'd get plenty of studying done while Dean waited to pick his brother up over at Crossroads Middle School.

So here they were on the edge of the crumbly parking lot bordered by leafy green trees dripping late afternoon shadows, warm air with a chilly autumn edge wisping through the car's open windows.

"So is this your dad's car?" Cas asks. He wishes Dean would take some initiative and break the awkward silence that keeps settling in around them. Dean was the one who'd suggested this anyway.

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it. "Well. Used to be."

"Wouldn't it be better to get a newer car instead?"

Dean laughs. "Are you serious, Cas? She's a chick magnet."

"Not for the kind of girls that go to St Eric's."

Dean's green gaze finds Cas's. He pushes his wrinkled white sleeves up and loosens his tie so much it's on the verge of slipping off entirely. "You sure about that?"

_She's kinda rough, she give it tough_

"There's gotta be a make out point _somewhere_ in Overland Park right?" Dean continues. "That's what these kind of cars are good for."

"No, uh, there isn't one," Cas stutters. "Not around here"

Dean's bare forearms and the light freckles across his nose that the late afternoon sun now highlight are imperative details. "Maybe there is and you just don't know about it 'cause you haven't been there."

Cas strives for an indignant tone: "Why would I even want to go?"

Dean shifts in his seat, half-facing Cas now. No seatbelt – Cas feels confident in assuming that Dean never wears one. "So you never . . . you know. Had a girl with you in your ridiculous Escalade?"

Cas sighs, praying his face isn't flushing and giving the lie away. "Dean, I am not, uh, well, it's - "

"Never like . . . " Is Dean leaning closer or is Cas just feeling suddenly claustrophobic? ". . . parked somewhere nice and secluded, maybe just accidentally . . . " Dean's hand brushes against Cas's on its way to grab a piece of paper from the glove compartment. " . . . touched them, or something, and one thing led to another?"

Cas stares at Dean's hand, wondering why it isn't visibly electrified, too. "What's that?" he asks, voice gone raw and out of his control just like the racing of his heart and thoughts and impulses.

"Hm?"

It tricks Cas into looking at Dean again. All of his features too close and too detailed. Stubble and freckles.

"That paper."

"Oh." Dean doesn't glance at it, holds Cas's gaze. "Yeah, it's just the schedule for Sam's debate club. I think I overestimated a little. They're done at five."

"Not four."

"That's right."

"What . . . " Cas's throat hurts, constricted and throbbing with heartbeat. "What do you want to do, until then?"

Dean smirks, dark and inescapable just like the long shadows over the parking lot. He doesn't lean toward Cas any more, just twists his fingers in Cas's tie and reels him in instead. 

Cas looks down at Dean's hand, watches the other one moving up Cas's chest and shoulder to cup his neck, has to stop watching when Dean's thumb strokes over Cas's throat before tilting his chin up. Dean's lips get caught up warmly with Cas's.

Cas doesn't kiss back, too frozen and terrified and desperate to do anything but close his eyes against the barrage of desires and worries that tug him in too many directions at once. Dean makes it difficult to stay indecisive for long, however – tonguing Cas's mouth open and licking inside. 

Harder kisses. The force of which make Cas respond automatically, then more purposefully and Cas can't pinpoint the transition but now his hands are on Dean, too, hungry for the feeling of his arms and chest and most of all his mouth – Cas's got his tongue in Dean's now, heady rush at leading the kiss making him dizzy and Dean sucking on his tongue in return making him dizzier.

Cas moans into it, so much louder than anticipated but moaning felt as good as Dean tasted.

Dean chooses that moment to pull back, fingers at Cas's lips to trace them reverently. Dean's obsessive gaze darting from Cas's mouth to his eyes.

"You sure you haven't kissed anybody before?" Dean says in the most lusciously low voice. 

Cas means to respond, but ends up just panting and staring at Dean, happy and panicked to be hanging on his every word. 

"Lick your lips for me."

Cas does.

"Fuck," Dean breathes, kisses him again. 

Cas can't fathom where the courage comes from but he reaches over and presses his hand between Dean's legs, finding him hard and feeling Dean growl into the kiss in response. Cas keeps palming him and Dean's mouth trails across Cas's jaw, sucking wonderfully on his neck now as he unzips Cas's fly and pulls his cock out. He's jacking Cas off with one hand while the other bat's Cas's away and manages to work his own pants open. He puts Cas's hand back on his cock and guides it up and down a couple of strokes before he's busy fisting his hand in Cas's shirt, gasping and burying his face in Cas's neck.

Cas inhales the clean scent of Dean's hair, the dusty wind gusting through the car that drowns their harsh breathing but does nothing to calm the charged hot air between them.

" _Ah_ ," Cas yelps after a particularly perfect stroke.

"Shhh." 

"There's nobody around."

"Yeah, but just in case, I don't want to chance somebody hearing how fucking sexy you are 'cause then the secret's out, you know?" Kisses Cas and hums approvingly. "God, your _mouth_ . . . "

Dean's hand is rough and fast and making Cas breathless, and the way Dean clings to him and mutters, "Yeah, yeah, _God_ ," in a loop makes Cas think he must be doing something right, too. He has the proof of it when Dean tenses and groans and spills between Cas's fingers.

Dean withdraws so quickly Cas is worried he's done something wrong but he's only moved away so he can bend low and suck Cas's cock into his mouth fantastically. Sucking so wetly and suddenly that Cas can only blurt out, " _Dean_ ," before he comes.

Dean seems unconcerned when he sits back up, though, wiping his mouth and grinning at Cas.

"I lied," he says.

Cas couldn't care less. Hasn't even caught his breath or fully processed what they'd done. "About what?"

"Sam's debate club is tomorrow night."

Cas stares for a minute before dissolving into laughter.

*

Dean walks right up to Cas's table at lunch. Cas would've been worried about his friends' reactions if he weren't so engrossed in Dean's easy smirk and defiantly popped up collar.

"Hey, you forgot these," Dean says, as though he isn't being glared at by the rest of the table.

Cas takes his notes from Dean, wondering what the hell they were even good for anyway or why he'd cared so much about them before. "Oh, thanks," he says. Then remembers where he'd left them, on the floor of Dean's car after Dean had been kissing him against the door before dropping him off.

Dean replies, "Don't mention it," in a voice like syrup.

"Table's full," Naomi tells him with a smile. "Sorry."

"The tables the rest of us have paid for but you act like you're entitled to are . . . that way, " Zach adds helpfully.

Raphael just nods and Mike just observes, phone on the table.

Dean rolls his eyes and makes to leave.

"Cas?" Mike says, making Dean turn back around.

Cas avoids their eyes, gathers up his backpack and computer bag and tray of food with some difficulty. 

"What," Zach laughs, "you're eating with _him_? Come _on_ . . . "

"This is simple," Cas says. "There's a right and a wrong way to treat people, and you know it." He follows Dean down to the other tables, realizing he's never actually sat with anybody else at lunch before.

"You're just trying to get into my pants, aren't you?" Dean asks once they've started eating, unable to stop grinning even while he chews.

"Well," Cas says. "I'm not very experienced, so . . . "

"Cas, come on, it was awesome, you were - "

"I'll need more tutoring."

Dean blinks, blushes. He twines his calf around Cas's under the table.

*


End file.
